


brains go great with aquavit

by stubbleglitter (maggie)



Category: NSYNC
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Alternate Universe - Zombies, M/M, Occult, Same-Sex Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-03
Updated: 2003-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-03 03:24:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggie/pseuds/stubbleglitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>one part ted berrigan, one part practical magic, one part travel memoir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	brains go great with aquavit

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: domestic violence, revivification

If JC and Lance hadn't decided to request that all the guests at their commitment ceremony wear black, a lot of things might not have happened. Miss Elliot, the weird witch lady from the end of town, might not have shown up and made loud announcements about the inauspicious date the lovebirds had chosen. Marshall, the fireman JC had dated for a split second two summers ago, might not have decided to crash the ceremony wearing nothing but a black thong. And Justin Timberlake might not have gotten all dizzy from excitement, dehydration, and copious amounts of rum and had to go lie down for a minute.

Of these three events, the first two might seem direr. But that would only be to people who didn't know the major plot points of the story, like everybody except your Friendly Author, or to people who didn't understand the full significance of Justin's feeling faint, like everybody else who wasn't Joey.

He'd approached JC about the dress code, fiddling with the snaps on his cuffs and saying, "Are you _sure_ about this, Jayce? I mean, black being bad luck and all..."

"I know, I know." JC flicked his fingers along his pink shirt-collar, regarding himself thoughtfully in the mirror. "But Lance wanted black, and he said that he wants all the photos to be great and everybody looks great in black, so, y'know -- it's a small thing to make him happy."

"Awww." Joey waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Small things make Lance happy?"

"Ass," JC grinned. He pinched Joey's ear and seemed about to say something, but then they had to go down because Lance was calling, and Lance, Dear Readers, was not to be ignored.

"All ready?" he asked as the other two came down the stairs. "The park is full of Decorah's best and brightest, and we only wanna keep them waiting as long as we have to."

JC shook his head, hopping down the last couple of steps to loop an arm around Lance. "Joey," he said, "remind me why I moved to this provincial little Iowan town again?"

"The lutefisk?" Joey suggested brightly.

"mmmm." JC wrinkled his nose and kissed Lance. "Must be."

...

There were little pastries all over the food tables. The little pastries looked good, but Joey wasn't quite sure what was in any of them. He'd taken one that he'd thought was apple, but when he'd bitten into it he'd gotten a mouthful of marmalade. Who the hell put marmalade in pastries anyway?

He picked up a little pouch and squished the business end hopefully as Justin slid up next to him, sipping on a rum-and-coke and staring around, glassy-eyed. "Great party, huh?" Justin asked, licking his lips. "Jayce and Lance looked so good, like, really good, and everybody's been so cool, are you gonna eat that?"

Joey gave the bundle one more considering prod, decided that he felt shrimp in it, and held it up to Justin. "Knock yourself out, man."  
Justin popped the pastry in his mouth and continued surveying the crowd while Joey investigated a spinachy item. As you can probably tell (if you've been to a lot of weddings and have been witness to this kind of thing), Justin had been drinking quite a lot and eating not so much, so even the shrimp pastry that Joey had kindly given him didn't do a lot to clear his head. To be honest, I would never chance seafood at a buffet-type setting, but Justin is younger and more foolhardy than I, so the thought of food poisoning didn't even cross his mind.

"Man, JC and Lance have a lotta good-lookin' friends," Justin observed, bumping his hip against Joey and diverting him from trying to remember whether or not he liked sundried tomatoes. "They sure do," Joey mumbled. He thought maybe this whole notion of staying such good friends with Justin even after they broke up hadn't been one of his better ideas. Because Justin looked good, super good, and Joey knew how soft and sweet he kissed when he was tipsy, and he really wasn't in the mood for that brand of nostalgia.

"Let's go find me a drink," he suggested. Justin looked happy and started motoring off in the direction of the bar, making little chicka-chicka-bow-bowm noises.

If this were a movie, there would be some sort of musical cue here -- something ominous, maybe, like a thundercrack or bell toll. But all there was, was Matthew Sweet's "Girlfriend" playing from the deejay table, and Justin saw Kevin for the first time, standing there all tall and delicious in black leather.

"Oh, _heeeeeeeyyyy_," Justin drawled, pulling up short and making Joey slam on the brakes behind him. "Hey. I don't think we met. I'm Justin, I'm JC and Lance's best friend."

Kevin smiled. "Congratulations," he said. Joey felt Justin tremble with delight against him. In case my Dear Readers are getting the notion that Justin is a cheap floozy, it should be noted here that Kevin's voice was of course _deeply_ sexy and would make anybody's heart speed up. Justin (being perhaps a _little bit_ of a cheap floozy) was affected as such, just as Joey might have been were he not somewhat distracted by being disgruntled.

"We'll pass that on," he said nastily, grabbing Justin's shoulders and manhandling him on ahead.

"Byyyyyeeeee," Justin called backward. Joey didn't feel very bad when Justin bumped into the lady who ran the pet store and got her vodka gimlet all over his shirt.

...

Ordinarily, a couple who has just committed to each other in some sort of legally binding manner embarks on a honeymoon, in order to celebrate their new tax breaks. However, JC and Lance didn't do any such thing. Lance said it was because they were saving to go on a Mediterranean cruise later that year. JC said it was because they were "too fucking broke." Then Lance said that JC had an awfully big mouth, and JC said something that I'm too delicate to repeat here, and then they retired to their bedroom to make up.

Left to his own devices, Joey decided that it would be a good time to load the dishwasher.

I realize that this seems odd, but you have to understand something about Joey -- _he liked doing chores_. Laundry, sweeping, even some gardening, and especially doing dishes with green apple dish soap. He didn't like doing these things because he secretly longed for domesticity, or anything; rather, in a house of four very vocal guys, wiping toothpaste off the mirrors gave him some time alone to think. It was soothing.

Plus, the other guys didn't make him pay for the utilities or much of the food, since he did all the cleaning-up. It had been like that since college, when they'd first leased the house together, and it was only now that JC and Lance had tied the knot that Joey and Justin were thinking of moving out. They couldn't just yet, because they were biding the time until Lance landed Head Archivist at the college and started making more money, but that was okay. They all got along well, and in any case, JC's and Lance's relationship was nothing new.

So Joey was carefully putting coffee mugs in the dishwasher and daydreaming about what kind of apartment he'd end up getting when Justin came waltzing through the backdoor, rumpled and red-mouthed. "Hi hi," he drawled at Joey, who shook his head indulgently.

"Have fun?" he asked. Justin careened over to the table and sat down, then got up and poured himself a glass of juice and sat down again.

"Loads," he grinned. "The Doctor -- that's Kevin, Kevin Richardson, the really hot guy we met? He's a doctor -- the Doctor came and took care of me when I was feeling sick from the heat."

"And the massive amounts of rum," Joey added, smiling, but Justin wasn't listening.

"He got me to lie down, and he gave me Gatorade to drink, and made me wet my head," Justin said dreamily. "And then he kissed me."

"He kissed you when you were all wet like that?" Joey had kissed wet-Justin before, and it tended to be one of Justin's crankier incarnations. But no, Justin was nodding and rubbing his cheek like he was a fairytale heroine.

"Joey," he said. "Joey, he's amazing. He's so smart, and hot, and he makes a ton of money and wants to take me out clubbing and stuff --"

"That's nice-"

"-- and he has a _massive_ cock."

So perhaps Justin wasn't quite as much the fairytale heroine as Joey thought. If any of you Dear Readers has spent an embarrassingly large amount of time lurking around in bookstores furtively thumbing through A.N. Roquelaure books like the Author has, you will probably disagree, but Joey hadn't read those books and so didn't draw a parallel.

"That's nice," he said instead, then slapped Justin's nose with the dishtowel. "You're a slut."

Justin threw his arms out across the table and put his head down, smiling big at Joey. "You loooooove me," he cooed, unmistakable fondness in his voice. Joey couldn't protest in good conscience so instead he finished Justin's juice, gave him a smacking kiss on the head, and wondered when he'd stopped being the exciting first boyfriend and become the good-hearted plain sister.

...

"So he's been seeing Kevin for how long now?"

"Christ, Jayce -- since your wedding. Don't you remember when that was?" Joey took the opportunity to stop by a tree, pressing his hands against his knees and panting heavily. He didn't mind running with JC sometimes -- he liked running -- but JC seemed to have lungs made of some sort of particularly annoying polymer that was impervious to fatigue.

Running lightly in place, JC squinted. "Oh yeah," he said. "So, about three weeks, then. They screwing already?"

Joey gave JC a look and JC laughed. "Of _course_ they are, what was I thinking?" He trotted a circle around Joey, who straightened and they set off again.

"Try asking him about it some time," Joey huffed. "You'll get the full story. You'll get it with clothed reenactments and really shitty diagrams." Joey shook his head as they coasted down a hill, heels hitting the dirt path hard. "You should hear some of the things that boy's letting Richardson do. Doctor Lover-Man is so kinky he'd give you and Lance a run for your money."

"oooh, don't be so sure," JC said coyly, then slowed to a walk at the bottom of the hill, wiping sweat from his forehead. When he talked again, his voice was slower and more serious. "Joey -- Joey, you don't think he's making Justin...I mean, Justin's good with this, right? He's happy?"

"Sure he's happy," Joey assured him. "Doesn't shut up about the dear darling loaded hung-like-a-horse Doctor."

JC nodded and waved hello to Lance as they turned into their gate, seeming content with this answer. For Joey, though, a tiny little doubt had been planted; JC's more emotional instincts were usually dead right.

"Maybe I should call Justin," he mused out loud to Lance when JC had gone inside for a shower. Lance leaned on his elbows against the porch railing and looked thoughtful.

"Justin's been over at Kevin's, what -- half a week, now?" Lance asked. "You might as well call. Even if he does get pissed at you for interrupting his sex." He grinned, then sobered up quickly. "But be polite, Joey. Kevin Richardson's a respected professional member of the community, and a big contributor to the college, and --"

"I know, I know. You don't want to step on any toes on your climb to the top." Joey made a face at Lance, but he didn't feel any malice. Lance had a stressful job.

If this were a movie, Dear Reader, you would at this point be treated to cut-scenes accompanied by a voice-over from Joey to show how each character earns his living. In fact, I don't see why that shouldn't happen, so here they are:

LANCE worked at the Luther College archives as an Archive Research Assistant. Imagine him keeping a watchful eye on students as they don thin cotton gloves to handle artifacts of the Norwegian Lutheran Synod, or sitting at a long table in the archive basement painstakingly cleaning off dirty old manuscripts.

JC worked at Agora Arts, selling things like heartwood kazoos and Lucite choker necklaces to tourists, of whom there were many. He was the best salesman there, perhaps because he could actually convince people that martini glasses with stems shaped like human torsos make the perfect gift for anybody.

JUSTIN worked at the Oneota Community Co-Op, where he spent a lot of time perfecting recipes for things like Anasazi Chili and Black Bean Chipotle Puree sandwiches and rolling his eyes at customers who complained about the prices and called it a "communist grocery store."

JOEY had the best job of all, because he managed Bookends and Beans and loved every bit of it, from choosing the flavored coffee of the day to trading recommendations and discussing books with patrons to just sitting down on the leather sofa in front of the fireplace.

The Head Archivist position was one that Lance was _thisclose_ to getting, so they were doing their best not to jeopardize that in any way. Which was generally easy enough, because Lance tended to make his own good press and all they had to do was not mess that up.

So Joey was prepared to be polite when he phoned Kevin later, at a time when he figured they'd be finishing up dinner. He said hello politely, asked for Justin politely, and was just a bit put off when Kevin said "call back later" and hung up on him. Frowning, he hit redial and waited impatiently until Kevin picked up again.

"I wanna talk to Justin," Joey said, cutting off Kevin's hello.

"Well, you can't," Kevin told him.

"It's important. It's about his...his mom." It was kind of dirty to use the mom card, but nothing would get Justin to the phone faster.

"I'll let him know." Kevin paused, then gave a low laugh that made Joey's hackles rise. "He's not convenient to the phone right now."

Straining to listen, Joey could swear he heard a breathy little "aaow" in the background that sounded like Justin. "Was that him?" he asked, starting to get worried. "Was that-" he gripped the mouthpiece end of the phone and yelled into it. "Jup! JUSTIN!"

Dial tone.

He slammed down the phone and Lance appeared as Joey hurried into the hall to grab his jacket and keys. "What the hell happened?" Lance asked. "Is Justin okay?"

"That fucker wouldn't let me talk to him," Joey fumed. "I'm gonna go over there my own damn self --"

"Oh, Joey," Lance started, and Joey knew what he was going to say next. "Joey, are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, maybe they were just fooling around -- Dr. Richardson's got the manners of a python, maybe you're overreacting a little bit --"

"You didn't hear it," Joey growled, yanking on his jacket. He'd just grabbed his keys when the phone rang again; Lance raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe that's him," he said. "How about if I get on the other line this time and listen in?"

"Fine." Joey figured he might as well -- Lance was one of those people who tended to believe things more if he was directly involved. He picked up the cordless and turned it on when Lance held the hallway phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Joey?"

A rush of relief suffused Joey. He was kind of surprised to realize how much, but swallowed that quickly and said, "Yeah, hey Jup. Are you okay, buddy?"

"Yeah, I --" there was a pause, and then Justin gasped, quickly. "I, uh...I'm fine, Joe. Joey. Uh. mmmmmm."

Although you can't hear Justin yourselves, Dear Readers, I'm sure there's no doubt in your minds as to what's going on at the other end of the phone. And it's just as filthy as you're imagining it.

Dumbstruck, Joey looked across the room for support. Lance was biting down on his lips, eyes scrunched shut, his shoulders shaking as Justin went on, voice uneven and hoarse. "I'll be...I'll be going away. With Kev -- with the Doctor, uhhh, I, um --" his breath caught and Joey closed his eyes, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. "_Jesus_. Um, for a while. Okay?"

"Sure, man. Enjoy yourself. I'll see you when you get back." Joey turned off the phone and thunked it a few times against his forehead before looking at Lance, who had hung up and was grinning wide at him. "Okay, so -- not exactly in trouble," Joey smiled weakly.

Lance shook his head. "Not quite," he murmured, and held out his hand for Joey's jacket.

... ... ...

So life went on in the manner to which it was accustomed, with every day passing much like the one before. JC and Lance, slightly disappointed to find that being married really didn't change them at all, began to dabble in little things to make committed life more interesting.

Joey, not being such a big fan of finding his friends having sex in the closet, spent a lot of time doing activities that required him to be out of the house. He volunteered to help at the museum, he learned how to carve _nissae_ and posted the little wooden gnomes in every window, he took up canoeing, he went for walks. A lot of walks.

The good news was, he'd lost some weight and those cargo pants that had gotten uncomfortable were nice and loose again. The bad news was, he missed Justin.

In the four months Justin had been gone, things hadn't gone crazy or anything -- his checks for utilities and nominal rent had arrived like clockwork, neatly signed and postmarked from places like Las Vegas, Baltimore, San Antonio. He'd called Joey once, early in the morning, and Joey had been so sleepy he'd barely understood anything Justin was saying. Eventually, Justin had laughed, said, "love you, man," and hung up. That had been it.

As any Dear Readers who have had mutual friends who are dating each other will know -- despite all assurances to the contrary, it's very hard to hang out with said friends and not feel like that saddest of accessories, a Third Wheel. And that's just how Joey was feeling.

His assistant manager at the bookstore-cafe, Brian, sympathized. "That's just how I was feeling when my friends got together," he told Joey as they filtered coffee into the percolators early one Thursday. "Suddenly they were always holding hands, and sharing little jokes, and I constantly felt like they couldn't wait for me to leave so they could get down to business."

"See, that's the problem," Joey said glumly. "I **live** there. I can't leave."

Brian nodded, then shook his head. "Tough call, man," he said, patting Joey's shoulder. "But you gotta make a choice, y'know? Either get used to being left out, or move out on your own."

"But Lance --"

"God will provide." Brian grinned, taking a deep happy breath when the aroma of fresh coffee wafted from the percolators. "And if he doesn't, JC will."

The bell on the front door jingled and they turned, surprised; it usually took about half an hour for the customers to start coming in, and those were all regulars grabbing a cup on their way to work. But no, there was Miss Elliot, clutching her hateful furless dog and staring suspiciously at them.

"Good morning," Joey said, a trifle belatedly. "Would you like some--"

"Shame, Joey Fatone! For shame!" She wagged a scolding finger, thinning her eyes. "You're gonna bring down a Great Evil upon this town, and y'alls just better stay the hell away from me with your bad mojo, for damn sure!" The scary dog barked in accordance and Joey blinked. Really, the whole thing would have been kind of alarming if Miss Elliot hadn't been dressed in an enormous quilted red tracksuit.

"I don't--" he began, but Brian neatly stepped in front of him, solicitously guiding Miss Elliot to table. "How 'bout a cup of coffee, ma'am?" he asked. "And a bowl of water for the little guy there?"

Miss Elliot seemed mollified by Brian's cosseting and consented to be served, still glaring at Joey from the corners of her eyes. He skedaddled as soon as he could and didn't feel comfortable until he was safely between the "travel" and "cultural studies" shelves on the other side of the store, feeling like a wuss, but a relieved one.

...

Joey went to bed early that night, tired out from an unusually busy day (a bunch of tourists from a Norwegian culture group in Rochester) and a busy evening (helping Brian put up a rose trellis and archway in his garden). Brian had come up with a brilliant suggestion over lemon meringue pie, musing that Joey could probably rent the empty space upstairs of the shop, on the brick heritage house's second floor. It really was a good idea -- Joey was sure that the owner would be amenable -- but the notion made him tired and stupidly depressed.

He had two fingers of whiskey before bed and fell asleep so quickly and hard that despite the flash thunderstorm that blew in and the celebratory bumping of JC's and Lance's bed down the hall, it took Justin falling across him to wake him up.

"_Joey_," Justin panted, grasping for Joey's shoulders, and Joey was wide, wide awake in less time than it takes me to say.

"What the hell -- Jup?" he mumbled, sitting up and grabbing hold of Justin, who was wet through and shaking. "What's wrong? What're you doing here?"

"Joey, Joey, Joey...." Sniffing loudly, Justin stared at him with big, panicked eyes while Joey wiped rain from his face. "I just did the _worst_ thing."

"What did you -- Jesus, is this _blood_?..." Joey stared in horror at his dark fingertips, then at the matching stream from Justin's nose. Justin shook his head impatiently.

"Look, that's not important. Joey, I --" He took a deep breath and said, all in a rush, "I killed the Doctor. Doctor Kevin."

It took a second for that to hit. "You **what**?!?"

"That's not the bad part. Fucker deserved it for smacking the shit out've me. But Joey, fuck, man -- I did something worse than that." Justin's voice climbed into a pitch closely resembling a wail. "I think I turned him into a _zombie_!!!"

Justin stared at him, anguished, and Joey considered what had been said very carefully. The Doctor had hit Justin, and in retaliation, Justin had killed him and turned him into a zombie. Yes. That was pretty much the gist of it, he was sure.

"I'm having a nightmare," Joey announced calmly. "I am now going to go back to sleep. Good night."

He wasn't, of course, having a nightmare. But just for a moment, he managed to convince himself.

...

"So this is him."

"Yeah."

"He doesn't look very dangerous."

"Yeah, that's probably 'cause he's **dead**, Joey."

"Justin, don't fucking give me lip right now, okay? I'm the one out here in the freezing rain at two in the goddamn morning helping you figure out what to do with the man you _killed_ and _zombified_, so you could show me a little consideration."

"Sorry, Joey, baby, you know I love you thank you so, so much." Justin's look of consternation seemed genuine enough, so Joey patted his shoulder and turned back to Kevin Richardson, whose stiff, unmoving body was crammed into the trunk of his own fully automatic power steering luxury vehicle.

"Well," he said slowly, "maybe burying him would help?"

"Maybe," Justin was skeptical. "He might claw his way out or something, though. Maybe we should throw him in a lake?"

"And have him dredged up like Laura Palmer? No, no thanks. Besides, having him rot in there would taint the watershed."

"Good point. Uhh...we could...plant him in the Carters' cornfield...."

"One of their dogs dies every couple of months, man. They're _always_ digging in that cornfield." Joey wiped rain from his eyes and hoped that the water dripping from his eyelashes was responsible for the twitch he thought he just saw Kevin make. "You said you zombified him, right? Which, by the way, you owe me a full explanation about later, but -- you kill zombies by cutting off their heads, right?"

"No, Joey -- no way." Justin held up his hands, taking a step back. "I am **so** not cutting off his head. That's just sick."

Joey chose not to comment on that. "Okay," he said evenly. "There's only one thing we can do with him, then."

...

JC and Lance were very happy to see Justin at the breakfast table in the morning, and even happier to find his vanilla waffles on the menu, because they were of accord that Justin's vanilla waffles were the best any of them had ever tasted. Joey very carefully kept his face neutral while he portioned out strips of bacon and Justin nonchalantly drank coffee and told the other two about his time away.

"It was great for a while," he said. "We went traveling, and the Doctor was so cool and smart and sexy --"

"And rich," said JC, to whom these things mattered a great deal (not because JC was shallow, but because he had a good head for finances and a keen taste for expensive clothes). Justin nodded, smiling.

"And rich, totally filthy doctor-rich. And he fucked like a wild man."

Lance shook powdered sugar on his waffles, not looking up. "Hit like one, too?" His voice was level, but they all knew Lance enough to recognize the barely-covered anger there. JC frowned at him, but didn't say anything.

Flushing, Justin worried at his split lip for a bit before saying, "yeah. Yeah, well -- he started getting all possessive-like, mental crazy possessive. First I thought it was kind of cool, because, y'know...I figured he must really love me, if he got so jealous and stuff."

"Oh, Justin, man." JC patted his hand, leaving little sticky syrup marks along Justin's knuckles. "You're so dumb when it comes to love, dude."

They all snorted a little at that and it broke the heavy mood; Justin grinned and started folding his bacon up, eating it with his fingers. "No fucking kidding," he said. "Anyhow, he started getting crazy, swung at me one too many times one night, and so I stole his car and here I am, back safe and sound at home."

"You stole his car?" Lance asked, wiping his mouth.

"Uh...yeah, well, kind of...technically, he, uh, gave it to me, so it's not like, he'd, uh-"

God, Justin was shit at lying. "Compensation for the bloody nose, eh, Jup?" Joey said loudly, grinning fit to burst. Justin stared at him for a second, then grinned too.

When Joey was standing at the sink after breakfast, filling it with apple-y smelling suds, Justin leaned in close and murmured, "thanks, man. Joey," and his nose pressed neatly behind Joey's ear.

...

"So, what happened." Justin kicked the porch swing off, glaring moodily out at the empty doghouse that sat in the corner of the yard while Joey pulled his feet up on the swing, tucking them neat under Justin's thighs. "What happened is he lost his fucking mind and wanted me to be his goddamn little wifey, or something."

Joey shook his head. "You're so _Sleeping With the Enemy_, man."

"Shut _up_. Anyhow, we were in his apartment in Chicago and I had about enough of his mood swings and bitchiness, wanted to come home for a bit, see all of you guys and he flipped right the hell out. Started cussing me out and punched me in the face -- he'd roughed me up a bit before, but I dunno, that was different -- this time he was mad, really mad, Joey. I've never seen anybody get that mad." Justin shuddered and Joey pressed his toes upward as a comforting gesture.

"But yeah -- he freaked me out, and after he kicked me a couple of times and I was down on the floor, he went over to the blinds and started ripping the cords down. I managed to get up while he was doing that and there was this stupid sculpture on the table next to me, this stupid fuckass super-expensive sculpture that he loved and I just grabbed it up, and he was turning around and I hit him in the head with it, Joey, just fucking _smashed_ that thing down on him, and there was all this _blood_ and some of it got in my mouth, and all over my sneakers, and, fuck...."

"C'mere, c'mere." Joey leaned over and hauled Justin to him, swinging one leg down so he could fit Justin against his shoulder. "It's okay, he was gonna hurt you, you were right to hit him. So, about this...about this...zombie...thing --"

Justin scowled, thumping the back of his skull against Joey's collarbone. "Yeah, right," he said, bad-tempered voice. "Well -- remember that summer I spent working for Miss Elliot, when she needed her whole yard cleared?"

"Oh, you're not for real," Joey groaned. "You are **not** for fucking real!"

Justin nodded glumly. "Oh, yeah. Once I got the yard done she taught me all kinds of weird magic shit, and I was just like, hey, I'm getting paid to learn how to make amulets out of chicken wing bones, what the hell, y'know? So when I -- after I -- after what happened with Kevin, he was lying there all dead and stuff and I got scared and remembered this zombie ritual she showed me. Except, she had a bunch of stuff that I didn't, chicken feathers and magic zombie powder, and so I think I fucked it up somehow."

"But you're sure he's a zombie," Joey said.

"Yeah. I wrapped his head up so he wouldn't bleed anymore, and I was cleaning all the blood off the floor and he sat up and kind of groaned, and I swear I nearly shit myself, man. And then he lay down and stopped moving again, but I figured I couldn't take any chances so I tied him up with the blind cords, shoved him in the trunk and drove here."

"You got some balls, man."

Sighing, Justin sprawled more comfortably onto Joey. "Tell me about it. Kevin's CD changer's in his trunk, and I had to go in there to take the damn Berlioz out of the stereo."

Joey smiled into Justin's hair. "Poor baby."

...

It was three days later when JC came in for dinner looking puzzled and said, "Hey, remember when that raccoon was living in the doghouse? I think we got rats or something in the cellar, now. There's all these scratching and bumping noises coming from down there."

Joey could feel Justin's panicked gaze swing over to him and concentrated on Lance's lasagna. "I'll check it tomorrow," he said casually, pushing the garlic bread over to JC. "Probably just a woodchuck or something."

It wasn't a woodchuck, or rats, as I'm sure you've all guessed. And perhaps, Dear Readers, you could have come up with better solutions for dealing with an undead ex-boyfriend than shutting his zombiefied ass in the cellar, but Joey and Justin figured that if the dear dead Doctor was starved for brains, he would just shut down. Being generally peace-loving, gentle people, they opted for this indirect method rather than anything more quick and violent.

But, as we all know -- that's not the way to stop a zombie.

"We'll go get him tonight," Justin whispered to Joey.

"And do what with him?"

"I'll think of something."

...

Justin proved to run his mouth off without results, because he really hadn't thought of anything by the time that he and Joey, armed with a gardening hoe and a baseball bat, opened up the cellar late that night.

But that didn't matter in the long run, Dear Readers -- because he was not in it, the hungry dead Doctor.

...

They found him eventually at the Carters' place, mouth attached to the throat of one of Nick's dumber border collies. The dog was limp in Kevin's arms and fell heavily to the ground in a weak spatter of blood when Joey swung his bat across Kevin's shoulders; Justin sidestepped it and hit Kevin neatly once more behind the neck. Growling, Kevin stopped reaching for the dog's head and swayed slightly, making no move at all. Joey and Justin stared at him, weapons at the ready.

"He doesn't look like he's going to move," Justin said unsurely, after a while. Joey frowned.

"Kevin?" he said. The zombie looked dully at him, and Joey wet his lips. "Uh...time to go home, Kevin. Back to the cellar."

Joey took a few steps, backward, in the direction of the car; Kevin shuffled docilely forward. "You're fucking shitting me," Justin breathed, lowering his hoe.

"I guess he's okay now that he's eaten," Joey ventured. "Poor doggie."

"Nick's got six others," Justin said absently, peering at Kevin. "This is so weird. You suppose we gotta keep him fed so he doesn't go crazy?"

"I guess. Jeez, what do I look like, the Zombie Care and Control Department? Let's just get him back home before he decides to snack on one of us."

"I don't think he will." Justin put his hoe down and stepped up to Kevin while Joey had nervous fidgets behind him. Tilting his head, Justin exposed a long stretch of throat to the zombie, who regarded him mildly. "Go on," Justin said, silk-voiced. Joey had the sudden uncomfortable feeling that he was seeing much more of their relationship dynamic than he wanted to, especially when Justin licked his lips and inquired, "Okay, maybe you want to eat my brains, huh?" in that same seductive tone.

"He wouldn't find any," Joey said tartly, hauling Justin back. He was right, though, the little tramp. Kevin was looking completely uninterested and in fact kind of sedate; he shuffled quietly behind them back to the car, then shuffled down into the cellar without protest when they got home and unloaded him from the backseat.

"We should find a way to stop him," Justin said when they went inside, taking off their shoes and jackets. "He can't be eating people's pets."

"We -- no, you, **you** should go talk to Miss Elliot. Tell her you screwed up and need her to help you put him down." Joey lowered his voice as they went up the stairs. "She has to help, it's her fault you even _knew_ how to zombify him!"

"She'll never help me, Joey!" Justin pulled on Joey's shirt until he stopped and turned around to face him. "She'll be pissed that I used her magic and she'll put a curse on me or something! That woman's crazy!"

"Well, we can't just follow him around every night making sure he doesn't eat Muffin and Patches!" Joey hissed. "And why's he acting like a fucking vampire, anyway? I thought zombies only ate brains!"

"Technically, yes," Lance said. "But this sounds like a special case."

Joey threw up his hands, vindicated. "_Thank_ you. God!"

He was halfway to his room before he realized.

...

They had cheesecake in the fridge, but JC insisted that since they'd woken him up at such an unholy hour for such an unholy reason, he was entitled to the full helping (robbing us all, Dear Readers, of the full _Golden Girls_-esque experience, but no matter). Joey found a pail of Whippy-Dip ice cream and made cones for the rest of them; they sat at the kitchen table for a bit, gloomily eating while coffee perked.

"So," JC said, licking his fork, "Kevin's a big dead dog-eating zombie."

"Yes," Justin said miserably and bit his cone.

Lance put his down. "Hmmmm," he said. "You didn't do the ritual properly, that's probably why he acts more like some sort of generic undead creature than an actual zombie. Otherwise he'd want brains, and you'd be controlling him."

"Maybe Justin _can_ control him!" Joey said, excited at the thought. But Lance shook his head and JC nodded in agreement, picking up Lance's cone. "Why not?" Joey asked, disappointed.

"Justin's not a voudoun priest, only a proper _bokor_ has that kind of power," JC explained helpfully around a tongueful of espresso flake.

"Oh, right, of course," Justin said, staring at him. "Don't tell me you know about this stuff too?" JC just flashed an enigmatic smile at him and continued eating ice-cream.

"I don't want to destroy him just yet," Lance decided. "We might still be able to turn him back, since Justin didn't use zombie powder or a zombie cucumber. Kevin might not even have been fully dead when Justin ensorcelled him."

"Does everybody know this kooky magic shit but me?" Joey asked, staring haplessly from one to the other. Lance waved an impatient hand.

"Oh, you do too, you big doof," he said. "It's you weaving all the harmony magic into our laundry and dishes and stuff, so shut up about not knowing anything. We have to figure out what to do about our zombie. I think we should take turns patrolling him at night, so he can go out and hunt gophers and rats and not Mandy's kittens down the street."

"Sounds good." JC thumped his chest and let out a modest burp. "You gonna check the books for reversal rituals?"

"Yup." Lance got up and fixed them all cups of coffee before sitting back down. "I'll ask Miss Elliot if I have to, but I'd rather we solved this our own selves."

"Sure," Justin said numbly, beginning to look as though somebody had handed him the keys to Halle Berry's chastity belt. "Sure. Guys, I totally appreciate all this, you have no idea."

JC drained his coffee cup and stood up, hugging Justin. "You're welcome," he said. "What're friends for, if not to help with a little zombie infestation?"

Lance watched JC say goodnight and head upstairs, adoration in his green eyes. "I so love that man," he said admiringly. Joey spluttered in his coffee.

... ... ...

And here, my Dear Readers, is where I give you a little bit of expository transition, because I have only so much space and desire to write about Lance, JC, Joey and Justin performing nightly zombie-duty. Suffice it to say that this went on for a week and a half, during which the chipmunk population around Decorah decreased by a couple dozen and the skunk population by one (due to an unfortunate occasion which resulted in JC getting soundly sprayed and then subjected to repeated scouring in tomato juice).

The boys decided that despite this, it was a good idea to actually take Kevin out instead of just throwing animals down to him; by the time they walked him out to feed and walked him back, Kevin was docile and submitted peacefully to being locked up until the next feeding time. Apart from a need to round him away from Nick's collies (whom he seemed to have gotten quite the taste for), Kevin wasn't a very demanding chore.

Of course, since you are all Very Smart Readers and have been exposed to quite a number of detective shows in your time, you are doubtless thinking, "But, Kevin Richardson was an important and respected member of the community! Lance said so! Surely somebody is bound to notice that he's missing?"

Quite right. Kevin had, indeed, overshot his booked vacation and -- his signature on paychecks being much missed at his office -- this disappearance was reported to the police. And that was why, when Joey got home from Bookends &amp; Beans one evening, he found Detective Christopher Kirkpatrick waiting for him on the front porch.

Detective Kirkpatrick lifted his nose and upper lip at Joey and regarded him through squinched-up eyes. He reminded Joey of a particularly near-sighted beaver. "You're not Justin Timberlake," he finally said.

"No, I'm not," Joey admitted. "He should be home soon, though. Would you like to come in?"

"Yes. Yes, I would."

Joey could swear that Detective Kirkpatrick was staring at his ass as he opened the door, but that was just silly.

...

"So -- how well did you know Doctor Richardson?" Detective Kirkpatrick asked, once they were inside and having coffee and bars. "This is great coffee, by the way. Is it chicory? I miss chicory coffee, my assistant only drinks that fancy French Roast stuff, like you get at Starbucks? I grew up on chicory, though. Can't beat that, it's gentle on the ol' stomach lining and all."

"Uh, it's, uh, a Copenhagen blend. Low acidity and mild body," Joey rattled off automatically, a little disoriented. "And, I didn't know the Doctor well at all. I met him a couple of times, at JC and Lance's wedding and I think once at the Fareway."

"What was he buying?"

"Olives, I think. I don't really remember, it was a while ago."

"Interesting," Detective Kirkpatrick said, scribbling something in his notebook. "I find that very significant."

"Really?"

"Yes indeed. There are other important indicators that point toward --" he stopped short and smiled at Joey. "But that's police talk, you're not interested in that, wouldn't make any sense to a civilian. Sometimes I forget not everybody speaks the lingo, y'know?"

"Er, yeah." Joey stared at the notepad, where the detective had written something that looked like

_olives  
vermouth  
gin_

and thought that perhaps Detective Kirkpatrick was what his mother used to call "touched in the head." "Um, Detective Kirkpatrick --" he began.

"Chris, please, call me Chris. Only my lieutenant calls me 'detective.' Well, and my ex-wife, but that was purely for sexual reasons. Dear girl had kind of a thing for Columbo, y'know, wanted me to wear the trench coat and all, which was all fine and good but I drew the line at the eye thing because that's where I draw the line." Joey's eyes widened in horror as Chris leered and winked exaggeratedly at him, but was fortunately distracted by Justin coming inside with somebody else.

"-- and that was pretty much the last time I saw him. I sure hope nothing bad's happened, Detective. I did love him so."

Joey mentally cursed Justin's community theatre experience for the high, affected tone to his voice and practically sprang from his chair to pour two more cups of coffee. "Ah, little Howie's here!" Chris exclaimed. "Sit down, son, and have some of this fantastic chicory coffee and an oat square."

The other detective looked pained and stopped writing in his notebook. "This is Timberlake, Chris," he said. "The doctor's boyfriend?"

"Right, right. So, Justin, level with me --" Chris put on a chummy tone, "-- did you and the mister have an argument over who had to sleep in the wet spot and you bumped him off?" A moment of horrible, awkward silence followed before Justin broke it.

"_Jesus_!" he bleated. "No! Why would you even **say** that? That's horrible!"

"Do you have any evidence?" Joey asked. Justin elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"Ha-hah!" Chris chortled, picking up another oat square. "Gotcha good there, didn't I? No, we don't have any suspects, at this point we don't even know if foul play was involved, so you're not in any trouble. His place in Chicago seemed okay, nothing broken or missing, and the only thing we couldn't account for was his car, which I noticed out front looking nice and clean and well taken-care of. For all we know, the doctor might just have headed off to the Upper Iowa River for a nice little fishing trip, y'know?"

"_Sir_," Howie said pleadingly. "Those are the case specifics. Maybe we shouldn't be sharing them."

Chris smiled indulgently at Howie. "Sure, sure." He rolled his eyes and held one hand up to shield his mouth, whispering loudly, "Junior Detective Dorough is a little bit on the stick-up-the-corn-chute side, pardon my French."

"Yeah," Joey managed. Justin's face was slowly turning red.

Detective Kirkpatrick stood up reluctantly, collecting a couple of oat squares into a napkin. "Well, thanks for the chicory and everything, Mister Fatone." He smiled brightly, sweeping his gaze up and down Joey's body in a very obvious manner, and stuck out one slightly crumby hand for Joey to shake before marching out the back door.

"We'll be in touch," Detective Dorough assured them. "Thanks for your time." He snatched up Chris's forgotten spiral notebook from the kitchen table and dashed after him, leaving Joey and Justin possessors of the field, non-chicory coffee and all.

...

"You'd better be careful," Lance said when they told him about the police investigation. "This Kirkpatrick guy sounds like kind of a moron, but you never know. It could be a Very Clever Act. What with him checking out Joey, and all."

"Hey!" Joey shouted. "I am a very fine piece of ass, thank you! " Lance ignored him and went on talking.

"Justin, you better make sure you've got your whole 'I just wanted to see my friends again so he lent me his car' story straight, or they're gonna get suspicious. I think I'm right on the verge of discovering something about revivifying Kevin, so if we can just keep the cops off our backs for the next two days we should be set. Think you guys can handle that?"

"We're not incompetent, Lance," Justin huffed. "I'm sure between us we can all keep our mouths shut. It won't be a problem."

The back door opened and slammed shut, and JC came skidding in, covered in dirt and holding a hockey stick.

"Guys," he panted," we've got a problem."

...

The cellar door was thumping when they got there, boards and the stick JC'd shoved between the outside handles shaking threateningly. They could hear roars coming from inside, harsh angry ones that sounded like Kevin's throat was tearing to make that noise.

"What the hell's wrong with him?" Lance demanded. JC shook loose dirt from his hair, looking frazzled.

"We were out by the McLeans' -- they've had a huge rabbit problem in their gardens this year, I figured Kevin could help out -- and he _attacked_ me. Not really strongly," he hurried to add, over the others' exclamations of concern. "Like, he just sort of shambled up and grabbed my head, but he did it from behind me and knocked me over into the dirt and I had to kick him off and hit him a few times with my hockey stick. He didn't start getting really mad until we got home and I locked him in there."

Lance hugged JC briefly, scowling at the cellar doors. "Dammit," he said. "I thought we'd have more time for this."

"He's turning into a proper zombie, isn't he?" Justin asked, panic rising in his voice. "We won't be able to turn him back? We'll have to cut off his head?"

"If we wait too long, yes. But I think I can probably have the revivifying powder done by tomorrow night, if I make a few substitutions and call in a few favours." Lance's distinctly displeased tone seemed a little more deeply motivated than Joey could figure out; JC, on the other hand, had gone stiff and stonefaced. He handed his hockey stick to Justin and went into the house without another word.

You're probably wondering, Dear Readers, what's up with JC's sudden hissyfit. Well, that's easily signified with the use of a diagram:

I didn't say it was a **good** diagram.

So, yes -- Lance had to go make use of Nick's extensive collection of fresh and dried herb materials, and JC didn't like this fraternization one bit. Nick Carter had been JC's boyfriend in their second year of college and they had been fine up until it turned out Nick thought JC wasn't serious enough about Life in Decorah, as evidenced by JC's refusal to become Lutheran and his staunch non-interest in Norwegian history. They broke up in a big shower of fireworks, Nick calling JC a "godless city-rat" in front of the funnel-cake tent at the Winneshiek County Fair and JC repaying the favour by "returning" Nick's copy of _ Logo Design That Works_ and his entire term's Milton notes -- after plunging them in the deep fryer at Marty's.

It hadn't taken Nick long to start dating Lance, who was Decorah born and bred and who'd taken Norwegian lessons and knew how to make _lefse_ and was just the kind of boy Nick would take home to mom. This went well until Nick learned that Lance had absolutely no desire to be involved in the welfare of the Carter family farm; at that point, Nick unceremoniously dumped Lance and swore to become celibate.

The celibacy didn't last, but by the time Nick found love with somebody else, JC and Lance had hooked up. Nick was an off-boundary subject for them because he and Lance had made up at one summer's Sine Nomine Vocal Faculty Recital, and he and JC still snarled at each other on the street.

Joey, who had transferred in after the big Nick/JC breakup, had no idea why JC was so pissed off. Justin did, though, and loped off into the house, leaving Joey the hockey stick. "Maybe we should quiet him down a little?" Joey asked tentatively, glancing at Lance. "He's making an awful racket down there."

"Whatever," Lance growled. "It's not like we're expecting visitors or something. Look, I've got stuff to do -- you take care of this." He stomped off and Joey heard his car start up and drive off a little while later. The cellar door bumped again, loudly, and Joey gave it a blank stare.

As it so happened, either zombies got tired and had to rest after a lot of activity, or they really liked Joey's renditions of songs from _Little Shop of Horrors_.

...

The following morning was, as you can imagine, an uncomfortable one for our four heroes. Lance was firmly in the bad books and utterly resentful of JC for it; Justin was worrying himself into an annoyingly nervous tizzy over the police involvement, JC was cold and unbearably snippy, and Joey was headachy and cranky from the overwrought emotions around him -- not to mention, tired of the whole affair.

So when Lance muttered, "I have to go finish up with that powder," and hurried off, and when JC sniffed, "I'd better find some vermin to feed our pet zombie," and swanned off, and Justin just sat there and frowned into his coffee cup, Joey'd had about enough.

"What're you doing here, man? It's the weekend!" Brian paused in counting out the float into the till as Joey slammed around behind the counter. "Did you switch shifts with Mandy?"

"No," Joey said. "Just felt like coming in today."

Brian grinned in sympathy and kept sorting change into the till tray, probably assuming (and rightly so) that dynamics at home were strained. Joey tied an apron on and wordlessly went to work the cafe counter.

...

The fridge was cleaned out, the counters spotless, and every single slice of banana bread perfectly arranged in the display basket by mid-morning when Detective Kirkpatrick turned up at Bookends and Beans, smirking at Joey in an insinuating manner and smelling strangely of Lemon Pledge.

"Hey there, Mister Fatone," he said. "Police discount on a cafe latte with whipped cream and a shot of Irish Cream?"

"We're not licensed," Joey said shortly. "You can have it straight."

"Sure, sure, whatever's kosher, you're the boss here." Chris leaned over the counter while Joey steamed the milk, watching every motion in a most irritating way and smiling to himself like he'd convinced Joey to come up and see his etchings. When Joey finished the drink and put it on the counter, Chris nodded towards the fireside sofa. "Come have a sit-down with me," he invited. "Doesn't look like the place is too busy, and I think I can afford to take a few minutes to enjoy this fabulous coffee even with me being as busy as I am and all, y'know."

Sighing, Joey wiped his hands on his apron and came around to sit with the detective, slumping disconsolately.

"So this is your place, huh?" Chris craned his neck around, eyes wide. "Nice, nice. Must do a lot of business, what with all the people around here, the tourists and students and stuff, and this kind of store's really popular now, right? Like on that show, that -- what was it? There was a redhead--that _Ellen_ show, right? There was a store like this in it, with the books and the coffee --"

"Detective Kirkpatrick," Joey interrupted. It was either that or pick up the book of Ansel Adams photos on the table and bludgeon the man to death with it. "Have there been any leads on the case?"

Chris shifted, irritated, and his coat gave off that whiff of lemon again. "Well, see now," he began, "I don't really want to get into that too much, what with the investigation being an official police matter and all...."

For fucksake. Joey closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again and smiled slowly at the detective, shifting a bit closer on the leather sofa. "Oh, I won't tell anybody," he murmured. "I mean, I probably won't understand anything you say, hardly, not knowing the lingo, but...."

Chris regarded him levelly and one eyebrow went up. "That's a nice one," he said wryly. "With the killer smile and all. I didn't fall off the back of the rookie wagon yesterday, y'know."

Joey blinked at the tone of Chris's voice, even and kind of way more attractive than his previous nattering. "Okay, look," he said, abandoning the vamp act, "just level with me, huh? Justin's a nervous wreck and he's driving all of us batshit."

There was a pause, and Chris calmly sipped his coffee. "We found something," he said finally. "Howie located some cords from the blinds back in the Chicago apartment." Joey's heart did a somersault and jump-juddered rapidly along as Chris, dammit, took another thoughtful sip of his drink and added, "We got a search warrant and found them in his car, parked outside your house, and we found traces of blood from both Doctor Richardson and Mister Timberlake on the cords --"

Joey stood up, head ringing. "I think I'd better go home," he said faintly. Chris put down his cup and stood as well, his eyes hard and canny. Joey could hardly believe this was the same funny short guy who flirted with him over the cinnamon roll display.

"I think that's a good idea," he said. "I'll give you a ride."

...

There was a police car in front of the house when Chris drove up. Joey practically bolted out and up the porch steps, bursting into the house and yelling for Justin. No answer. Justin's jacket and keys were still hung up, so he couldn't have gone out, but he wasn't in the house.

He nearly collided with Detective Kirkpatrick on the way back out. "Timberlake not here?" Chris asked, drawing his gun. "I'm not getting a response from Howie, either."

Joey pushed past him and ran out into the yard. "Justin!" he called. "JUSTIN!"

There was a rattle near the front fence, then scraping and a definite, "Joey?" Coming from -- coming from the doghouse.

"Jup?" Joey bounded over to the doghouse, seeing Justin's sneakers flop out of it. He helped unfold his strangely awkward friend from the small construct, wondering why Justin was making it so difficult until he was out and standing there panting with his wrists cuffed behind his back.

"The -- he came -- the detective, he found the cords and he came and arrested me, and then Kevin --"

"What about Kevin?" Chris trotted up abruptly, gun still held at the ready. Justin ignored him and started heading towards the cellar.

"He broke out!" he yelled. "The detective just put the cuffs on me and Kevin broke through and knocked him over and I ran and hid in the doghouse, and Jesus I hope he's okay...."

They skidded up beside Detective Dorough's unconscious but otherwise unharmed body and Justin slammed himself into Joey in relief, rubbing his head against Joey before Chris yanked him away, holstering his weapon. "You're still under arrest," he said grimly. "Where do you think Doctor Richardson would have gone?"

"Look, you don't understand!" Justin said desperately. "He's not alive any more!"

"You murdered him?"

"No! No -- well, maybe, but in self-defense! And anyway, he's attacking other people now, because he's a zombie and unless Lance can turn him back then he's gonna be a _proper_ zombie and he'll want brains to eat and we'll have to cut off his **head**!" Justin wailed.

Chris went stock-still, staring at Justin. Then he turned to Joey. "He's got some kind of craziness in the brain, right?"

"Sadly, no."

The detective was about to say something else when they heard, "what the hell? --" and JC jogged up, sweaty and obviously having just arrived back from a run. He glanced around at the irate cop, the cuffs on Justin's wrists, the prone Howie and finally alighted on the splintered cellar doors, eyes flying wide in horror.

"Oh, _shit_!" JC gasped. "I was so pissed at Lance this morning I forgot to bar the doors again after I tossed Kevin his squirrels! Oh, Justin, baby -- I'm so sorry!"

"s'okay, C, but we gotta find him now. Where could he have gone??"

"This is all complete bullshit!" Chris shouted suddenly. "You expect me to believe that doctor Richardson was turned into a freakin' **zombie**, and you people have been keeping him in your _cellar_?!?"

"Nick's," JC said. Chris whipped to look at him.

"Ex_cuse_ me?"

"Nick's!" JC said again, more excitedly. "One of his bitches had a litter last night, Kevin would totally want to eat them!"

"Why would he --" Joey began, but Justin was already nodding eagerly, and of course, Dear Readers, you must know that any objection Joey has to that leap of logic must be overridden by your Faithful Author, seeing as there does need to be an ending that ties everything together -- and in a zombie story there is already some inherent suspension of disbelief.

"Lance is over there finishing up the powder," Justin said, mouth dropping open. "Fuck, we better haul ass!"

Chris bristled. "Hey, look -- I'm the goddamn policeman here, and one of you is still under arrest, and furthermore I don't believe this cock-and-bull story about any zombie --"

Justin rounded impatiently on him. "You can arrest me after, Chris. Just come the hell with us and you'll see, you'll see what Kevin's turned into and I swear if it's not true I'll come down to the station without a fucking peep, okay?"

Chris looked angry when he got into the car and undid Justin's cuffs, but he didn't say anything.

...

The backroad to the Carter farm never seemed longer and more abominably bumpy than it did on that ride, everybody in the car tense and worried. JC had tried calling Lance on his cell phone, but it was turned off and no amount of JC hollering "turn on your goddamn PHONE!!" into the mouthpiece could change that.

When the shed where the dogs lived appeared around the corner, Joey gunned the car, barely throwing it into park before they all poured out. "LANCE!" JC bawled. "Where the hell ARE you?"

There was a resounding crash from the greenhouse and they all took off running, Detective Kirkpatrick too, slamming the door open and pelting in -- and just in time, it would seem, because Kevin was chasing Lance around a table. The zombie shot out a hand and grabbed Lance around the neck, jerking him back sharply; Lance made an "urrk!" noise and flew backwards against the Doctor.

"Get **off** him!" JC yelled, furious. He snatched up a gardening stake and bolted over, beating Kevin about the head with it. Joey armed himself with a rake and applied it vigorously to Kevin's kidneys until the zombie groaned and dropped Lance, who dragged himself up, coughing.

"Subdue him!" he rasped, making his way over to a table that was covered in dessicated plants and strange ground-up concoctions. "I'm nearly done with the powder, I just need to mix it and perform an invocation --!"

"Gotcha," Justin said, and turned to Chris. "Give me a hand with this hose, wouldja?" Chris nodded, wide-eyed, and the two of them managed to wrap Kevin into the hose, pulling it tight at either end and getting JC and Joey to help throw their weight into holding the Doctor.

Lance scrabbled around, hastily stirring components together in a big wooden bowl before hurrying out to stand in front of Kevin. "Hold him tight," he cautioned the others. "This might be rough." Taking a deep breath, Lance grabbed a fistful of powder and flung it at Kevin, shouting "CHAMAUX KI BESOIN KONYEN PWALL COURI DEYE OU NA DESERT!!"

Kevin paused in his struggles, then roared even louder and strained forward, trying to get to Lance, slowly dragging the four men holding him inexorably forward. Lance put the bowl down and grabbed double handfuls of the powder, casting first one and then the other at the zombie, who threw his arms into the air, let out one last almighty bellow, and then toppled facefirst onto the ground in a cloud of potting soil and ground herbs.

"That," Joey said, "was some fucked up motherfucking shit right there."

JC vaulted over Kevin's body to wrap Lance in his arms, kissing him about the face. "Thank God everybody's okay!" he declared. "Lance, honey, what the hell was that you yelled at him?"

"Uh, something I found on the internet," Lance said dazedly, staring down at the Doctor. "It means, 'you will be chased across the desert by sex-starved camels'." He saw the others staring at him and shrugged, spreading his hands. "Hey, I'm not a voodoo priest either. I figured I'd have to rely more on intent than ritual."

"Well, it worked, whatever the hell you did," Joey said, prodding Kevin in the ribs with the toe of his shoe. Chris pushed past him and dropped to his knees beside Kevin, closely followed by Justin. "If this man is dead," Chris told them, "you all have some serious explaining to do, most of which will probably implicate you further."

He was cut off by Kevin, who groaned loudly and started to struggle within the confines of the hose. "Jesus, you're alive!" Justin gaped, then hurried to help Kevin get out of the coils of rubber. He patted Kevin all over the head and back, dusting dirt off his tattered clothes. "Are you okay? Is anything broken? Do you remember being a zombie?"

"A what?" Kevin furrowed his brow at Justin, then stared around at everybody else. "Where the hell am I? I don't remember anything."

"How nice for you," Joey said frigidly. He hadn't forgotten Justin's blood on his fingers in the middle of the night.

Justin seemed to, though, since he still had his hands splayed all over Kevin's back and arm and was inspecting him for injury. "That's good," he said hopefully. "I mean, it's good that you don't remember anything, none of what happened in your apartment --"

"No," Kevin said, "I don't remember being a _zombie_. I remember **that**." He scowled as Justin stood up, frowning. "You hit me with my Reg Butler original, you little slut."

"Oh," Justin said, and kicked Kevin in the nose.

... ... ...

As you can doubtless presume, Dear Readers, Justin didn't go to jail for killing and zombifying Kevin, since the Doctor in question was alive and well (once he got his broken nose set and the gash on his head sewn up) and decided that it would be wisest not to press charges. Lance and JC made up in fine style and really did book that Mediterranean cruise they wanted, because Lance was finally promoted to Head Archivist as he deserved.

"It kind of sucks that you guys have to leave," JC said as Joey and Justin carried boxes out to Brian's flatbed. "I mean, all I know of Decorah has been living with you!"

"Except for when you lived on-res at the college," Justin reminded him.

"And those four months you lived with Marshall when you and Lance were Exploring New Options," Joey added. JC rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean," he said.

And they really did. It felt strange when they drove away, both of them sitting up front in the cab with Brian and waving to JC and Lance until they couldn't see the front porch anymore. "You guys'll get used to it," Brian told them kindly, and turned on the radio. The whole process really seemed quite anti-climactic; moving was a big deal in the scheme of things, but after all of the excitement of keeping and hunting a zombie, pretty much anything seems small and unimpressive in comparison.

"It's not like we live far," Justin said in a small voice, poking Joey's shoulder. Joey heaved a sigh and rubbed his eyes.

"I know," he said heavily. "And they really should be on their own, what with being married and all." He grinned and shoved against Justin. "'Sides, we got each other, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah!" Justin sat up straighter. "And we got that whole big second floor to ourselves, and it'll be tons of fun." He slung an arm around Joey's shoulders and jostled him affectionately. "We'll get used to it in no time. But you'll still do the dishes, right?"

"We'll see."

Justin sighed in contentment, then hummed to the song on the radio a little bit, then leaned in and gave Joey a soft kiss to the side of his mouth.

Joey supposed it was a start.


End file.
